Blemish
by nonotthatone
Summary: Clex, one-shot. Clark has a big problem and rushes to Lex for help, but Lex misunderstands ... things get silly and slashy from there.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

A/N: This is really old-school Clex, set somewhere early in Season 2 (but I haven't taken tons of time to figure out exactly where).

* * *

Blemish

"Lex!"

"Clark?" Lex had picked up his cell phone absent-mindedly, but at Clark's urgent tone he sat bolt upright. "Are you all right? You sound …"

"I just wanted to make sure you were there," Clark interrupted him. "Can I come over?"

"Of course." Lex was on his feet in a heartbeat, slipping on his jacket with one hand, never letting the phone leave his ear. "Where are you? I'll come get you myself."

The line seemed to go dead.

"Clark?" Lex called into the lifeless phone, tamping down hard on the panic rising in his chest. "Clark!"

But then the French doors swung open and Clark hurried through them.

"Sorry," he offered sheepishly, one huge hand snapping his own cell phone shut and slipping it into his jeans pocket. "I was ... already downstairs before it even occurred to me to call."

"It's all right," Lex said, shaking his head to clear it. "What's going on?"

A wave of intense emotion crossed Clark's face like a shadow. "I didn't mean to barge in on you like this. I just … didn't know who else to turn to."

Those words made Lex's heart twist in his chest. How he'd fantasized of hearing Clark say he needed him; but he'd never dreamed he'd actually get to hear him say it. It was exponentially sweeter than he could have ever imagined … for the first time in his life, Lex felt truly rich.

But now was not the time to indulge himself in fantasy – he could savor this moment later, when whatever crisis Clark was in had passed. He forced himself to regain his breath and poise. "You can come to me with anything, Clark. You know that."

"I do," Clark said with a small smile. "I knew you'd help me if you could. And I just don't know what to do."

"Tell me what's wrong," Lex implored.

Clark sighed heavily and turned away, began to pace the room. "I can't believe this is happening to me. It's completely unfair. Just when things started to finally seem like they were going my way …"

Lex had no idea what Clark could be talking about. Clark's life, from where he stood, was perfect: loyal friends, loving parents, a happy home. The Kents might have fewer dollars than they might be comfortable with, but apart from that Lex could discern nothing about Clark's life that could be called unfortunate. Even the strange events for which Smallville was notorious seemed to have a strange tendency to break in Clark's favor. So he was completely at a loss to guess what might have Clark so worked up, what perceived slight or injustice could put him in such a state.

But Clark, seemingly oblivious to Lex's confusion, was still talking.

"I didn't tell you, did I, that Lana finally agreed to go out with me? That I actually found the guts to ask her, and that she said …" His voice cracked and he thumped his palm with his fist – an unusually frustrated gesture for the normally level-headed Clark. "I should have known."

Lex's attempt to puzzle out Clark's meaning was momentarily derailed by the unexpected – and, truth be told, unwelcome – topic of Miss Lang. "Known … what?"

"That it could never work out so perfectly. I let myself get so caught up in the idea of finally, _finally_ getting a shot at happiness that I forgot …" Clark suddenly stopped pacing and let himself fall heavily onto the leather sofa. He hid his face in his hands; his dark hair fell around his fingers like a curtain. The vulnerability of his pose drew Lex like gravity to his side; his frustration at Clark's refusal to make sense was overwhelmed by a wave of affection.

"What did you forget?" he asked gently.

Clark didn't say anything for a moment; then, finally, he lifted his head again and turned to face his friend. It caught Lex off-guard to see the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "This always happens," he whispered. "It flares up at the worst possible times."

Flares … what … oh. _Oh._

Lex felt his face grow hot. All right, so it was still flattering that Clark trusted him enough to come to him for advice. But VD was not a topic upon which Lex wanted to be seen as an expert. (Which was not to say he hadn't learned a thing or two in his misspent youth on the Metropolis club scene … but he wasn't really interested in advertising that, not even to Clark.)

He lowered himself slowly to sit beside Clark on the sofa. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands folded. The difference in their ages seemed magnified by the fierce, miserable expression in Clark's luminous eyes; Lex felt, he realized, more like a father or older brother than a normal best friend might.

It would have helped Lex so much if he'd ever had any of those, to help him form a frame of reference for what the hell he should say next.

He cleared his throat. "Have you …" he asked as tactfully as he could, "… tried medication?"

"I've tried everything," Clark answered wretchedly. "Nothing's helped. It's hopeless."

"Nothing's hopeless, Clark," Lex said, swiftly becoming all business. This was more his element – taking action, issuing orders, solving the problem. He rose decisively from the sofa and took a few steps towards his desk. "I'll make some phone calls and have the best specialist from Metropolis on the LuthorCorp helicopter within the hour."

"It's too late for that now," Clark said darkly. "I don't have a lot of time left."

The floor may as well have opened up and swallowed Lex whole.

It wasn't VD after all. It was something far worse. Something … terminal.

Suddenly it all made perfect sense: Clark's eyes, so profound and yet always edged with an unfathomable sadness, his ever-present air of secrecy. Of course he would have wanted to keep his illness from Lex; he was probably tired of the pitying eyes all around him, here in Smallville where everyone knew everyone else's business. It had probably been refreshing to make a friend who _didn't_ know, who would treat him just like anyone else.

It even explained Jonathan Kent's fierce over-protectiveness; perhaps Clark had been hurt before by other so-called friends who'd been unwilling to take on the burden of such heartbreak. So of course Jonathan would be suspicious of Lex, his terrible reputation, the newness and unlikelihood of this friendship. He probably thought Lex wanted to turn Clark into his own private Make-A-Wish project, get some positive PR off a poor dying boy.

Not that Lex wasn't desperate now to whip out his checkbook, Jonathan Kent's anger be damned. If only money could fix it … but he'd learned that lesson already. The memory of his mother knifed through him; he'd believed he'd lost everything with her, that there could be no deeper pain. But now he was to lose Clark too ...

A world without Clark in it? The very thought was cruel. Lex mourned for a moment of the brief months he'd had to enjoy Clark's company; but even if it had been years, decades, it wouldn't have pained him any less. And even worse was the future that they now would be denied … what adventures, confidences and simple, comfortable camaraderie would they miss? What scenes would Lex never capture, to turn over in his mind and replay on his security footage after Clark had gone home for the evening? What handshakes, what hugs, what passing touches during games of pool or drives in the Lamborghini would he never be allowed to over-analyze? Lex would never get to see how close time could bring them, never feel the tenderness and desire reach an unbearable persistency, never struggle with his self-control and his conscience until he found himself confessing all – and counting the heartbeats until Clark's answer.

He would never know if Clark could have loved him too.

Never … or now?

Now … or never.

He moved quickly, turning back and dropping to his knees before the sofa. "Clark," he said nakedly, enfolding his friend's hands in his and letting his voice fill with every ounce of emotion he'd ever suppressed. "Listen to me. Let me help you – I'll spare no expense. And there has to be research being conducted, or an experimental treatment … you can't give up. I won't let you die."

Clark just stared at him, speechless. Then his gaze shifted to the hands that grasped his … then back to Lex's face, then the hands again, face, hands, face, his eyes growing wider with each second. Then, finally, he found one word: "Lex …"

"No – please," Lex persisted, stopping his lips with one urgent touch of his fingers. "I'm sorry it's taken this to make me see … I should have told you from the start. I love you, Clark." His voice began to tremble; he draw a breath, steadied himself, began again. "I love you, and I can't lose you."

Some part of Lex was irritated at how simple the words sounded; he'd always prided himself on his eloquence. He supposed the urgency of the situation might excuse him, but he still had to salvage what he could of his image.

So he let his fingers move from Clark's lips to the nape of his neck, and kissed him.

He kissed him as if there would be no tomorrow, although he intended to fight with all his considerable might to make sure there was one. He kissed him as if to take his breath away, although if it were in his power he would make sure Clark's last breath never came. He kissed him as if Clark's life depended on it, although in some strange way it felt more as if it was Lex's that really did.

Clark hung back for only an instant; whether it was surprise or indecision that made him hesitate, he recovered from it quickly and returned the kiss with great enthusiasm. His hands brushed Lex's chest and slipped around his sides, sliding up his shoulder blades. He pulled Lex closer and Lex purred into his mouth; perched as he was on the edge of the sofa, Clark's arms and legs were perfectly positioned to envelop and absorb him. It was a singular experience.

Several times Lex thought he had made his point well enough, and softened the kiss to pull back; but each time Clark would recapture his lips, reignite him with a skim of fingers along his collar, refuse to let him go. Lex couldn't help but smile against Clark's mouth; he'd kissed him on an impetuous whim, let a surge of emotion carry him over the edge. He'd never have presumed Clark might be waiting beyond that edge to catch him.

Lex tried to push off the bittersweet wish that he'd done this months ago. But he'd do his damndest to be sure there would be plenty of time to make up for his delay. And Clark was definitely not kissing him like a man who'd lost his hope.

When they finally parted, Lex leaned his forehead against Clark's and closed his eyes. His fingers moved as if of their own volition to stroke Clark's high cheekbones and toy with his unruly hair. Clark's breath ghosted over Lex's face, and Lex realized he was chuckling softly. But before Lex could even begin to question the strangeness of that reaction, Clark's huge hand came to cover his, pressing skin to skin.

"I've never been so happy to not be dying," he murmured.

Lex's eyes snapped open. "What?"

Clark was grinning broadly; despite himself, Lex found it dazzled him even more than usual when viewed from just millimeters away.

"I think we're having a misunderstanding," Clark said simply.

Lex moved to pull away, but Clark held him fast. "Hey," he said. "You don't have to do that."

Panic coursed over Lex's skin like icy water. "But you said …"

"I don't know how you jumped to that conclusion," Clark went on, his tone almost lilting with amusement, "but I'm in perfectly health. In fact, I probably have the least chance of dying tomorrow of anyone on the planet."

For a moment Lex struggled, as if Clark's words did not compute. Then the full realization of what he'd done crashed over him like a wave, and with a surge of strength he removed himself from Clark's arms.

"Clark!" he cried, half-strangled with frustration and humiliation and gratitude. "What the hell …!"

Clark just looked at him and then burst out laughing.

Lex tried to frown at him – he really did try. He hated feeling foolish more than almost anything. But Clark's laughter was contagious, and he found he could not hold his expression; his mouth began to turn up at the corners. And then Clark rose and wrapped his arms around him again, and beneath his kiss Lex could not restrain his smile.

"You and your bizarre theories," Clark whispered teasingly into his ear. After the kiss was over he'd pulled Lex into a bear hug, and he wasn't letting go.

"I don't see how you can blame me," Lex retorted, feigning a wounded tone. "Smallville has a tendency to inspire a person to wild conjecture."

"You may have a point," Clark conceded, nuzzling his throat. "And I can't say I'm sorry about the outcome, even if your initial hypothesis was way off."

Lex tried valiantly to suppress his response to that touch and those words. "So … you don't mind?"

"Oh, right," Clark replied, one hand cupping Lex's jaw and tilting his head so their eyes met. "I _really_ mind. Can't you tell?"

It took every ounce of composure Lex possessed to keep his voice even. "You're good at keeping secrets … I never would have guessed you felt this way too."

"Well," Clark confessed, his gaze dropping for just a moment, "honestly, neither would I. But I guess you never really know anyone, do you? – maybe not even yourself."

"So …"

"I love you too, Lex," he said, and his voice was like a promise.

Some time later, Lex remarked, "So you never did explain the big emergency."

"Oh." Clark's cheeks colored. "That."

"Yes, that."

"It's kind of embarrassing."

"Considering what you've just put me through, I think you at least owe me some clarification."

"Well." He seemed properly mortified, but Lex wasn't about to let him off the hook; he regarded him sternly, and Clark finally spoke. "Like I said, I finally got Lana to say yes to a date. We're supposed to be going to a movie tonight."

"I see."

"Don't start, Lex. It's bad enough she's going to hate me when I call her to cancel. Which I guess I should do – I'll just step out in the hall …"

"Oh no you don't," Lex retorted, keeping a tight hold of his hand. "You finish with me first."

Clark raised his eyebrows in a bid for sympathy, but found only insistence in Lex's face. "Fine," he surrendered grudgingly. "So I was getting ready, trying to plan out everything I wanted to say and do … and then I looked in the mirror and … well … this."

He pointed to a spot on his face. Lex's brow creased.

"What?"

Clark turned an astonishing shade of red. He stuffed his hand into his pocket and half-turned away. "I guess it's not as noticeable as I thought."

Lex seized his chin and turned his face back towards the light. "Such vanity, Clark! I have to squint to even see it."

"Well," he huffed, "you try getting a zit on the night of a big date and see how calm and rational you are about it."

"Hmm," Lex murmured noncommittally. "And exactly why did you feel I was best suited to counsel you through this crisis?"

"Because you have the best skin of anyone I know," Clark said unabashedly.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, sir," Lex chided, though the way he slipped his fingers into Clark's hair rather suggested otherwise.

Clark smiled at his touch and let his embarrassment drift away. "Are you sorry? Because I can still make that date with Lana if I hurry ..."

"I'm only sorry she'll be disappointed," he answered smugly. "It seems that's my fault."

"That's all right," Clark grinned. "I'll tell her to blame you."

"I'll make it up to her somehow," Lex replied dismissively. "Flowers, jewelry, my half of the Talon … I'm good at grand gestures."

"Lex."

"Yes?"

"I don't want to talk about Lana anymore."

Lex smiled slowly, savoring each syllable of that sentence. "Neither do I."


End file.
